


And...Time

by AsgardianAngels



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Humor, Julian POV, Julian being adorably ridiculous, M/M, Post-Canon Cardassia, Slice of Life, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Weddings, mentions of sex but it's fade to black every time, seriously not an ounce of angst to be seen here folks, this bad boy can fit so many headcanons in it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-15 02:41:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29056863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsgardianAngels/pseuds/AsgardianAngels
Summary: To put it simply, Cardassian clothes were bloody difficult to take off. And it was driving Julian mad.A sweet and funny glimpse into one very particular aspect of Julian's new life with Garak on Cardassia Prime.
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 10
Kudos: 90
Collections: Star Trek: Just in Time Fest





	And...Time

**Author's Note:**

> I whipped this little ditty up special for the Just In Time Fest! Please go check it out.  
> I rated this T, because while the premise does revolve around their intimacy the act itself isn't described per se, just what happens before. If you feel I should raise the rating, please let me know and I will. I just didn't want to disappoint anyone hoping for mentions of lizard bits.  
> Some elements of the Cardassian wedding ritual were inspired by [this lovely art](https://pyrrhic-victory1.tumblr.com/post/629621333675917312/suggestion-by-bashir007-of-a-cardassian-wedding) by pyrrhic_victory. I hope to someday write a little more extensively on Cardassian courtship, as I skipped over and simplified some of my ideas on it here.  
> Basically this fic is dotted with various Cardassian headcanons, which I hope you enjoy.
> 
> Also! Just in case it is not clear, the time jumps are relative to the first time period given, not to each other :)

Four and a half minutes.

That was how long it currently took one Julian Bashir to remove each and every article of clothing from his Cardassian lover, and it wasn’t good enough.

Frankly, it was downright embarrassing.

\---

Ever since stepping foot on Cardassia Prime six months ago, Julian had found himself caught up in a whirlwind of new and exciting experiences. From on-the-job training in treating a myriad of novel viral infections that had cropped up in the aftermath of the bombardment, to mindfully sampling the wildly flavorful elements of local cuisine to suss out which wouldn’t leave a human in severe gastric distress, making a living on an alien planet was certainly a learning curve. Luckily he had a trusted guide, which had made the transition not just a little smoother, but less lonely too.

Indeed, a great deal of those new experiences were had with his generous host, who so graciously opened his home – meager dwelling though it was – to Julian upon his arrival. He and Garak had wasted no time in coming to suitable (and quaintly domestic) living arrangements, and soon afterwards Julian began his much-needed work at the capital’s central hospital. To their mutual delight, it didn’t take long at all for some things to happen between them that probably should have happened years prior. Better late than never they agreed, and ever since, each day held more surprises in store as they gained their footing and settled into the steps of this humble, promising dance. To his relief he found he knew most of the moves already; shared meals, literary debate, and begrudging fashion advice were all still richly coveted, making this less of a departure from past routine than a deepening of it. Those which were still uncharted territory, well, they took their time savoring each and every one.

The first time Julian kissed him, Garak was stirring dinner on the stove. Taken completely unawares, he all but forgot the pot on the burner until its contents began boiling over, sending them scrambling to move it off the heat and clean the foaming, starchy mess from the floor amidst profuse apologizing. Neither of them could stop laughing, giddiness bubbling up inside them (like their nearly-ruined supper) as they resumed their embrace.

It was barely a minute later when Garak formally asked for his hand in courtship, accompanied by a gentlemanly kiss to the hand in question. Permission was enthusiastically granted.

After an acceptable waiting period (that is, by somewhat prudish Cardassian standards, and during which they jumped through countless hoops designed to gauge their compatibility) they consummated their relationship. The morning after, when Garak had the honor of scent-marking his future life-mate with his own unique post-coital pheromone cocktail, Julian had never seen such reverent pride gracing those grey features. Or for that matter, when they finally managed to get out of bed and down to the morning market, and Garak practically paraded him around for all to see (and envy). That night had been _glorious_ , Julian recollected dreamily. Utterly sublime, nearly religious, by far the best he’s ever –

 _Alright, alright, no use skirting the truth_ , he thought to himself. It _had_ been the best of his life, because intimate relations with a Cardassian was a league of its own and it surely helped to get those sparks flying knowing he was already in love with the man. But it was also awkward, inelegant at times, and fairly clumsy until they got the hang of it. Some of that clumsiness came from the necessary patience and forgiveness as they stumbled their way through interactive tutorials on their respective anatomies. But too much of it was due to Julian’s humiliating ineptitude at getting Garak unclothed and into their bed in the first place.

That brought him to his current, ongoing predicament. Julian cringed. Four and a half whole minutes.

It was pitiful! They’d been at this now for a couple of months, he thought he’d have taken to it with the same speed he tended to pick up other skills. After all, he was conversational in Kardasi after only ten weeks of immersion and Garak’s home lessons. Helping his partner shirk those unnecessary layers should be a piece of cake.

Julian sighed, and slid apathetically down his place on the sofa until he lay slumped on the rug, hands covering his face. Perhaps the reason there had never been any documented Human-Cardassian relations before now was because it was damn near impossible to coax one of these scaly bastards into the nude! The Alpha Quadrant obviously wasn’t ready for Cardassian fashion. The way he saw it, it was a built-in prezygotic barrier to making ridiculously adorable part-mammal, part-reptile hybrid babies.

Sorry, was he thinking about babies again? He’d been doing that recently. Starting a family with Garak was a topic for another day, preferably after they’d been enjoined.

Cardassians dressed first and foremost for warmth. That meant layers – a minimum of two loose, breathable ones during the dog days of Prime’s scorching summers, and upwards to six, bulky and woolen, in the (surprisingly chilly) winter. They also dressed for utility, modesty, and then aesthetics. If Garak’s own tastes were anything to go by, his species had an eye for geometry and appreciation for intricate hand-crafted detail. It could be stunning to look at (particularly when one’s partner was a very fine tailor), but offered Julian no favors in the bedroom.

To put it simply, their clothes were bloody difficult to take off. And it was driving him mad.

It seemed like small potatoes, and Julian knew he shouldn’t be ripping his hair out over such a simple setback, if it could even be called that. But it was a matter of pride, and showing Garak that he was committed – to him, to his culture, to what they were building here. Plus, well… it was getting to the point where his fixated frustration was, ah… _curbing his enthusiasm_ , so to speak, though he didn’t much mind Garak’s helping hand to set him back on track before they got started in.

This was Julian’s challenge to himself, and he wasn’t one to back down. He had ambitious goals of whittling that time down substantially, so he could actually make a show of sweeping Garak off his feet without the rather deflating hiatus between initiation and gratification.

He’d waste no more time in puzzling out this latest riddle. He’d have it solved before he knew it, like those Rubik’s cubes he was so fond of at the Academy.

\---

**TWO WEEKS LATER – 4.5 MINUTES**

_Damn, damn, damn it all to hell._

Julian fumbled aimlessly in the dim lamplight, teeth gritted, as Garak’s weight rested comfortably atop him. His nearly fully-clothed weight, that is. He’d managed to shrug the outermost layer off, a dignified ebony robe with emerald accents and silver trim that shimmered when the light of the three moons hit it just so. Robes were easy, he liked it when Garak threw himself at him wearing robes. On this particular occasion Garak had been called to preside over a consequential diplomatic forum regarding the extension of Federation aid for another entire year. Needless to say, it had gone well.

As Garak continued peppering kisses down his neck, Julian cursed under his breath as his fingers roamed haplessly, searching for his entry point to the next level of this infuriating game of strategy and will. From the sound of it, Garak was none the wiser to his lover’s vexation, taking it all to be encouragement as he emitted a noise Julian almost dared call a purr (more of a low, crocodilian rumble really) into the crook of his neck. It vibrated through his ribcage, settling deep in his gut and setting him alight with renewed determination. Finally, a clasp of some sort, and he raced to open and tug the tunic down from Garak’s back. The belt was getting in the way, he dealt with that swiftly.

The seconds ticked by as Julian fought his way like a rat in a maze, stupefied by how one man could even manage full range of movement with this many clothes on. Garak huffed in thinly-veiled disdain as his painstakingly hand-embroidered garments were discarded in a crumpled pile on the floor. Julian caught him sneaking glances at the sad heap, probably judging if the wrinkles would be unforgiving enough tomorrow that he should just get up and fold them now while he still had a chance. _Hey, you, how about you set your attention on this sad heap right here_ , he thought in Garak’s direction. Perhaps his enhancements afforded him just the slightest of telepathic abilities, because Garak did turn back to him, clothes forgotten for more rewarding endeavors. At last Julian reached Garak’s final layer, close-fitting thermal leggings that Cardassians wore in lieu of traditional undergarments (what with internally held genitalia and all, their main purpose was warmth, just like everything else). To Julian’s great relief, these were removed with little opposition.

He was nearly exhausted from the effort before they’d even begun the main event. Still four and a half minutes – he hadn’t improved a lick. Another benefit of his augmentation was precise mental timekeeping. To pour salt in the wound, Garak stripped him down in turn in less than thirty seconds, and Julian was sure he was taking his time for effect. _I did make your entire wardrobe myself_ , he’d said to Julian at one point. _I know them all like the back of my hand._

Maybe a more subtle approach was necessary. He’d learned that particular bit of advice many years ago from the man whose hips he was currently locking his legs around. Intelligence would need to be gathered. There was a bit of entertaining irony in this – a covert operation in which the spy was the target.

He’d, _ah_ … have to think more on this later. 

\---

**ONE MONTH LATER – 3.5 MINUTES**

Streams of early morning sun poured in from the window, warming what they touched. Julian stirred, and allowed himself to exist unburdened by thoughts for a precious minute as he lay swaddled in the heavy sheets. He stole a glance beside him where the steady rise and fall of Garak’s chest was visible beneath the bundle he’d accumulated throughout the night and pulled close to himself. Julian saw his own feet poking out from the sheets at the foot of the bed and wiggled them with a smile. Garak was lucky to have taken a cold-tolerant species as a lover, else there might be less verbal love-sparring and more bitter fighting over custody of the bedspread. Noiselessly he slid off the mattress and went to the window to view the aftermath of what was heralded as one of Cardassia’s greatest natural wonders. Garak had gushed about the spectacle of sunrises on Prime, but he hadn’t been capable of fully appreciating it until he made this planet his permanent home. When he could, he endeavored to wake in time to witness it start to finish.

Thinking quickly he hid his lower half with one of the curtains; no need to flash the neighbors this early. Even when drifting off in post-coital satisfaction, Garak always had the good sense to slip into at least some basic nightclothes. Julian was not bound by the same thermoregulatory rules, and was glad for that (and so was Garak, by the way his hands tended to wander). That being said, spring had arrived after a harsh winter, bathing this recovering world in life-giving rain. Hope seemed to burst forth from the ground with every bulb that blindly sent up its infant green shoots with nothing but faith and trust in what lay ahead. Already the chill had disappeared from the air, and Julian could anticipate the return of the oppressive heat that had greeted him when he’d first landed here.

He both was and wasn’t looking forward to the warmer months, and it had little to do with his ability to weather the challenges this planet seemed intent on throwing his way to test his resolve. Rather, it pertained to this ongoing challenge of his, which had made slower progress than Julian would have liked by this point (though progress was progress nonetheless, and discovering the fine Velcro-like seam running down the side of Garak’s second insulated undershirt was supremely gratifying – he’d been pulling it over the man’s head this whole time). In the summer, Garak wore less, which made taking it off easier. One would think he’d be pleased by this development; however, this was Julian, and thus it had the opposite effect. It gave him no chance to improve – once the heat set in, and Garak shed the layers as readily as his own scales, it would practically put his experiment in cultural initiation on hold. There was no victory to be had if he wasn’t able to prove his worth as a mate with this simple task!

Which reminded him, Garak was due to molt sometime in the coming week, he’d better put the towels down in the bathroom. Another quirk of cohabiting with an alien, though as a doctor there was very little he couldn’t stomach.

A couple of weeks ago Julian had put a plan into motion, though ‘plan’ implied some semblance of order which this undoubtedly lacked. He figured that he shouldn’t let learning opportunities be confined to the bedroom, and so had started snooping through Garak’s wardrobe whenever he could prove the man couldn’t possibly be surveilling him (which wasn’t often, so he was limited mainly to times when Garak was physically not on the premises). Really, Garak should be proud of the lengths he was going to in order to obtain vital information.

To think, all those years on the station when he was preoccupied with wartime casualty reports or holosuite battle reenactments, he should have been paying attention to the one thing that would really matter later – where the _bloody hell_ the zippers were on Garak’s tunics. If there even were any, which Julian was seriously doubting at this point based on what he’d seen. Each ensemble was unique and demanded its own lengthy tutorial, where it would be examined thoroughly inside and out, and given a few practice runs. He couldn’t bear to imagine the look on Garak’s face if he were to walk in and find Julian with a tunic stuffed over his head as he tried to feel out the stitching – finding the snaps on the dense wool ones was like a needle in a haystack. While some from his time on DS9 had made the trip, much of what Garak wore these days prioritized withstanding the elements over turning heads on the Promenade. Still, even with limited resources at his disposal, Garak bestowed on all of his creations his own personal flair, steadfast in the face of a disaster so horrifyingly absolute one wondered how any traces of identity, collective or individual, escaped being snuffed out in the wake. Julian would always be able to pick Garak out in a crowd. It made something flutter and dance about in his chest, and he couldn’t help but smile into the sun, embracing the new day.

He’d been so absorbed in his musings that he didn’t hear the creak of the bed behind him. A set of scaled hands gently set themselves on Julian’s biceps, thumbs rubbing circles into his skin. He felt Garak press a kiss to the back of his neck.

“Pontificating again, are we?” Garak teased lightly. “I told you my dear, I read that too much thinking is poisonous to humans. The inevitable crushing reality of the universe’s chaotic, callous, and altogether indifferent nature can build to lethal levels in the body, if not immediately remedied with a heavy dose of spoon-fed idealism.” He brushed a hand through Julian’s fluffy hair. “Most effective with Federation issue silverware, so I’ve heard.”

Julian turned to face him, so he could see the affectionate smirk on his lover’s face. Garak absently scratched at a neck scale that looked like it was starting to flake off. _Talk smack all you want, you overgrown lizard. You’ll change your tune once you need me to rub lotion on your raw skin after you yank a strip off before it’s ready._

\---

**THREE MONTHS LATER – 1.5 MINUTES**

Summer loving was a sweaty affair, at least for humans. Cardassians lacked the ability to sweat, so at the season’s peak (when it was getting a tad toasty even for an ectotherm) they would pack in under any shade they could find. Communal pools were common, though this was the first time since the war that they’d had the water for it to spare.

They had the window open, the hot breeze providing minimal relief but keeping the air circulating. It lifted Garak’s gossamer, cream-colored shirt to expose his finely scaled abdomen, and Julian took the chance to weave his hands up Garak’s back, guiding him closer. His partner’s body heat was almost stifling as they made contact, but Julian would be damned if that stopped him.

Like he’d said, stripping in summer was too easy. He had, however, gotten very good at working through Garak’s light underlayers in this interim, which was a step in the right direction.

They interlaced their fingers, earning a contented hum from Garak. It resonated with the mellow drone of the insects in the garden, wiling away the evening singing in ceaseless search of the kind of companionship the two of them had, very gratefully, found in each other. 

\---

**SIX MONTHS LATER – 3 MINUTES**

They tumbled onto the bed together, grinning into their kisses. A flash of silver hit the light as Julian tenderly lowered Garak down against the sheets, drinking in the warmth of his adoring gaze.

Elim had proposed today.

It wasn’t strictly necessary; the implicit expectation of a Cardassian courtship was that it would end in marriage. One would not do their courting partner the disrespect of entering into such an arrangement if they weren’t prepared to see it through – that is, if all went well each successive step of the way. A mutual agreement to proceed with the third stage of courtship (physical intimacy) was tantamount to the promise of matrimony, and to withdraw after that point would be in very poor taste. Their particular circumstances weren’t standard though, for numerous reasons, and so Julian suspected that despite everything, Garak was holding onto some lingering doubt about where this would eventually lead. That man tried his hardest to temper his hope with (what he argued was healthy) cynicism, to shield his heart from further irreparable damage.

But he’d taken the plunge and asked outright. Julian had to give him immense credit for venturing so far out of his element. He’d even gotten down on one knee and presented a ring, something wholly alien to his people.

 _You’ve been exceptionally considerate in adopting our customs,_ Elim had said. _And not just abiding by them out of courtesy, but embracing them wholeheartedly, which has meant more to me than you could ever know. Surely I can do the same for you. On this most special of occasions, shall we meet halfway, my dear?_

The small gem set in the center of the ring resembled tourmaline, a brilliant lagoon blue that matched perfectly the hue that Cardassians would adorn their scales with. Planets in the Cardassian system were near-bereft of mineral resources, and if Julian knew Garak, this wouldn’t have come from anywhere but his home soil. He couldn’t imagine how difficult it must have been to procure, and worried about Garak skipping meals to save for it.

Garak assured him that it was Kelas who insisted on covering most of the cost. That saintly old soul had been waiting for them to get engaged since the moment Julian moved in. Still, he figured he’d fact-check the story over lunch tomorrow at the hospital.

As for tonight…

Garak was staring up at him with exceptional fondness, and Julian could only guess as to what was going through his mind. Much as his fiancé – and wow! wasn’t that exhilarating to say – loathed to admit it, his expressiveness made him an open book to those who could read the language. Amazement, humility, gratitude, and love, so much love, painted resplendently on that living canvas. Now if Julian could just return the favor and emancipate him from the clothing which must be burdening him so…

Gingerly, he reached beneath Garak to get at the fastenings that closed his tunic (yes, it was tunic weather once again). His hands were trembling far more than they needed to, but _hell_ if he didn’t want this to go right; he wanted to prove he’d learned something in the last six months, and what better time! Garak arched his back a bit to grant him easier access, steadying himself with a hand on Julian’s shoulder. Julian groped around for where they ought to be (based on his prior stealth inspection) and felt little but smooth seams, which he pried at in a silent plea to Oralius or whichever of the old Hebitian gods might still be hanging around. Finally, he was able to sneak his fingers between the layers of fabric and expose the elaborate, almost labyrinthine system of interlocking hookless fasteners that were a trademark of upper class formalwear.

He began to sweat now.

How many brassieres had he made short work of during his more adventurous days, on the station and at the Academy? What good were these nimble surgeon’s hands if not for this?

He fiddled with the mechanisms some more, and felt heat creeping into his cheeks (instead of much lower where it should rightfully be). “Genetic enhancements my arse,” he grumbled to himself. “What I needed enhanced was my ability to tear my lover’s clothes off in one fell swoop.”

“I would counter that your _arse_ needs no enhancement,” Garak commented, giving the area in question a friendly pat. “It’s quite delectable as is.” He relished the flush that spread across Julian’s face as he stumbled and somehow managed with one slip of the fingers to _refasten_ the tunic.

Julian wanted to scream.

Instead, Garak’s smile morphed into one of benign amusement as he watched Julian internalize his meltdown. He seemed perfectly content to be patient and let Julian keep at it as long as he needed, to prove to himself whatever it was he felt he must.

Julian supposed he should be grateful for such a forgiving husband-to-be.

At last, he relieved Garak of his outer layer with an exhausted sigh, hoping that Garak would never wear this particular ensemble again on nights where they planned to turn in early. He redeemed himself by working quickly through his undershirts and trousers, thanks to his months of dedicated practice that summer.

Right, at last. Of course now he needed to get back into the mood, but taking in the sight of Garak’s bare form ready and wanting beneath him despite his shortcomings, he found it wasn’t difficult.

\---

**SEVEN MONTHS LATER – 0 MINUTES**

He couldn’t be bothered today. He pounced on Garak the moment the man emerged from the bathroom, not yet dressed after his shower.

He received no complaints.

\---

**FOURTEEN MONTHS LATER – ??? MINUTES**

“And then, when he bent down, Molly shoved the cake into his face!” Julian’s face was red from laughter, and he’d been smiling so much it hurt. “Instead of helping him, Keiko took a picture! You should have seen it, Elim.”

“I’m sorry I missed it,” Garak responded, chuckling heartily. “The colonel had me quite occupied with her strong opinions on the recent trade agreement concessions. Sometimes I wonder if that woman ever stops working. I would think if there was one day where I might be relieved of my ministerial responsibilities, it would be today!”

Arm in arm, they meandered down the dirt path, having opted to take a more scenic route home through the newly-renovated public gardens. Their way was lit by the soft rosy glow of insects that reminded Julian of fireflies, floating lackadaisically on the breeze. They passed a thicket dense with cerulean blooms (which locals called first-flood, a rough translation that referenced not only its color but its auspicious timing, a sure sign that the spring rains were forthcoming in a matter of days), and on their way by Garak plucked a blossom and pressed it into Julian’s palm. He twirled it about, thinking how much it resembled hibiscus, and lifted it to his nose to inhale its sweet, heady aroma. He carried it with him as they continued on home, recounting tales of the afternoon’s celebration with zeal.

The wedding was modest by human standards, with little fanfare. To a Cardassian, it was almost scandalously extravagant. Family was valued above all (except loyalty to the state, although since the war a more liberal interpretation of this credo had found support), and while newly enjoined couples were of great excitement to the community, the ceremony itself was quite private. They’d opted for a blend of traditions; friends from far-flung corners of the quadrant were brought back together after over two years apart, and even Garak couldn’t help but approve of the guest list. Kelas Parmak stood out as the only Cardassian besides the officiant, but he was a rather unconventional fellow to begin with and easily fell into rapport with the former station crew. Deviating further from custom was the three-tiered cake, a large slice of which ended up smeared across the Chief’s face and down the front of his best suit. Both cultures had vows, and a rather unique fusion of marital rites was performed that included both reciprocal application of the ritual paint _and_ the exchange of rings. The addition of a kiss was a very willing compromise.

When Julian smiled, capturing Garak’s hand in his own as they approached home, he could feel the dried paint tighten on his cheeks. His heart still fluttered at the unexpected intimacy of drawing pigment-dabbed fingers down the length of Garak’s jaw, coloring his auricular ridges a bold red while his own smooth skin received blue. The room had fallen utterly silent, and for a few moments, it was as if they were the only two beings in the whole of existence. They had begun the ceremony wearing only one color, and finished with three; that on one cheek which was self-applied, that which was given on the other by the spouse-to-be, and the combined violet hue created when foreheads met. Their respective pigments were copiously applied in that spot, a little more gracefully in Garak’s teardrop divot than the center of his own unsculptured forehead, and after a firm press to transfer, a single downwards slide of each other’s thumbs blended the colors to a royal purple. With that, two family lineages merged, two fates were inexorably intertwined, and they could now reflect on both where they came from and where their path would take them together.

Garak shut the door behind them as they stepped inside, both of them shrugging off their jackets. Underneath they boasted some of Garak’s finest work, opulent silken robes glittering with gold that matched their new rings. Julian had insisted on _plain and simple_ gold bands, to prevent Garak from spending half their savings on any more lavish jewelry, no matter how much he wished to spoil the love of his life. It was all they needed, anyway. Promises needn’t be shouted ostentatiously from the rooftops; those whispered in a breath shared between lovers held weight enough for a lifetime.

Their wedding guests knew better than to follow the two of them home. They’d barge in tomorrow bearing gifts and (much-appreciated) home-cooked dishes, and leave a mess that threatened Garak with a headache just picturing it, but their friends if nothing else could take a heavily-dropped hint to call it a night so they could as well.

A hand found its way to Julian’s waist, and together they climbed the stairs to their bedroom. Whatever exhaustion had weighed them down after a long, eventful day was shed upon reaching the threshold. They rested their purple-tinged foreheads together in that gesture of connection that transcended words, and they let their breathing even out until they were in time with each other, until their love seemed to flow freely between them in a way only they understood. At last they parted, and Julian set the showy flower he’d been holding onto down on the nightstand. They let the soft sheets caress them, rolling onto their side to entangle their limbs and bring each other close.

This was it. The moment of truth. Julian had practiced, he’d studied, he’d had about as much hands-on experience as he could hope for. _Let me take his breath away tonight._ He knew he could do it this time.

He divested Garak of his outer robes, and hovered above the tunic underneath. In his hesitation, Garak reached forward and laid a hand on his blue-streaked cheek, pulling him forward to meet his lips.

Julian melted into the kiss, and time seemed to slow to a stop.

He had to…

He…

He wondered when this had become a competition.

Elim had always chastised him for rushing through what should be savored, especially when those things had been few and far between during the many years of the war and its aftermath. He was trying to prove his competence to Garak, that he could keep up and continue to be worthy of his affections, but… they were married. He _had_ Elim now. He supposed he always had. And Julian realized rather sheepishly that it likely had little to do with his ability to disrobe him on command. It was the nights they spent curled up together on the sofa under a down blanket reading in comfortable silence, and the hours spent shared with hands deep in red clay to nurture a garden that would grow vibrant and strong from the ashes. It was the fond needling, the constant challenge, the encouragement to never settle for less than what they knew they each could be, the push to never remain stagnant in one’s self-discovery. It’s what made him certain there would never be a dull day so long as he lived. Life with Elim was always having something to talk about, and someone to listen with vested interest – and, of course, interject any well-deserved criticisms that propelled him forward to keep reflecting and improving, always seeking new perspectives.

Julian couldn’t dream of a better fate.

He had meant for this to be a straightforward, achievable challenge, a shiny new puzzle for Julian Bashir to solve. But somehow life got in the way, and didn’t it always, when you least expected it? He wasn’t prepared to let the start of the rest of their lives pass him by. Yes, he knew the moves now. He could undo every button, unhook every clasp, and do it all forwards and backwards in his sleep if he really wanted. But they had all the time in the world.

Julian did take Garak’s breath away. He did every time they made love, and he was finally, truly coming to see that. Tonight he showed off his hard-earned skills in sartorial extrication, but he didn’t keep count of the minutes as they passed. He took his sweet time, endeavoring to take his husband’s advice and let himself savor the good things in life, from this moment onwards. They deserved it.

**Author's Note:**

> Epilogue:
> 
> Life with Elim was a day, not too far in the future, when they would visit the city’s orphanage and glance at each other, and know they were thinking the exact same thing.


End file.
